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trying to see the pink paint, on his face a comical look of surprise.
    Dandelion hopped off her stool and bolted outside. Cloud-wing brushed past her, smiling, and she tried to return his smile. He was clever and kind, trying to make her feel better, but it only made her suddenly realize how deeply wounded and confused and irritated she was. She left as quickly as she could and ran through the corridors, trying to hold back the emotions that now, when nobird was around, boiled over.
    She sobbed with relief when she touched the crystal doorknob of her own door. Quickly she entered the room and shut the door behind her, leaning against the cool wood. Nobird cares when somebird tramples upon dandelions. They’re weeds, aren’t they? And a tough dandelion doesn’t cry.

    Â 

Nothing is something.
    â€” FROM THE B OOK OF H ERESY

6
B ETWEEN M OTHER AND S ON

    O h, no. No, no, no,” said a gruff female voice. “You’d think Fleydur would sit still, grateful that he’s escaped death for returning. But it’s been just a month, and he already itches to mold the mountain like clay.” There was a sigh. “You know your father has never written a will and named his heir. When Fleydur was banished, you were the obvious choice for successor. But now Morgan confides in him , talking of reopening mines of generations ago, of allowing music, of other madness!”
    Dandelion stumbled, alarmed. She had entered the wrong room. This was a small and dimly lit antechamber, and voices were coming from the crack of a door into an inner room. She must have gotten completely lost in the corridors and staircases. Dandelion was about to turn and leave but choked back a shout when the door she leaned on swept her into the wall.
    Mashed in the tight space, she squirmed, her heart pounding. Whoever had entered remained standing in the entrance, his breathing audible.
    â€œMessage and delivery!” The voice boomed inches from her ear. “Here is a scroll from Fleydur to all of the court, outlining his desire to schedule a meeting with the Iron Nest.”
    â€œThank you. I shall get it,” said a familiar voice, Prince Forlath’s. Fleydur’s brother! Dandelion thought. And the other eagle in the inner room, is she his mother, the queen? Where is Fleydur? Forlath approached the messenger, but he continued his conversation with the queen. “Really, Mother, I feel that you’re making a pebble into a mountain. It’s no secret Fleydur wants to improve our kingdom. See, he is drafting a proposal.”
    As Forlath’s clawsteps receded again, the queen cleared her throat. “Oh, is that his intention? Is it really?”
    As the messenger left, he jerked the door shut, exposing Dandelion.
    She froze. The entrance to the inner chamber was wide open! Forlath’s silhouette filled the doorway of the inner room. But his back was to her. “Fleydur’s true intention? I do not know what you mean.” Forlath’s voice was slightly trembling.
    â€œYou know full well what I mean!” The gruff voice abruptly changed to a pleasant, ladylike tone. “Or do I have to put thoughts into your head as well as words, dear boy?”
    â€œMother, I do not—”
    â€œFleydur is here, trying to get at the throne!” The queen’s voice was shrill.
    â€œSo what?” asked Forlath. “So what if Fleydur becomes king?”
    Dandelion finally succeeded in prying the door open a crack. She slipped out of the room, running in the direction she had come from.
    â€œWhat’s that?” she heard Sigrid cry.
    Did Forlath spin around and see her? Were clawsteps hurrying behind her? Dandelion didn’t wait to find out. She tore into a side corridor, taking turns and twists whenever available, knowing that if they saw her, it would only take a few beats to overtake her on wing.
    Oh, if I could fly now! she thought.
    To her alarm, a bird ambled around the